A Gift for John
by iridescentcolors
Summary: Most people give flowers or chocolates on Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, Sherlock isn't like most people...


It was a cold and blustery night, which meant that John was huddled up in a collection of jackets, blankets, and other various fuzzy things. He barely glanced up when the front door banged open, and Sherlock strode in, a small box clutched in his hand. Sherlock approached John's makeshift nest, impatiently waiting for John to acknowledge him.

"What?" John finally asked, visibly annoyed at being brought out of hibernation.

"Well," Sherlock said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I was informed by a colleague that today was Valentine's Day." He paused, seeming to consider whether or not he should go on.

"And?" John asked, impatiently. "What's that got to do with us? It's not like either of us have anyone to celebrate with. Unless you're hiding a secret girlfriend somewhere I don't know about. Are you?" John asked suspiciously, peering around the apartment as if a young lass might pop out of one of Sherlock's many bubbling tubes and mysterious jars.

"Not exactly." Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, shoving the box towards John before he could change his mind. "Open it," he commanded. John took the box, looking curiously from it to Sherlock's face, realizing that Sherlock - the unbeatable, invincible, emotionless, highly functional sociopath in front of him - looked flustered.

"This isn't a declaration of your undying love, is it?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Sherlock looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Oh my god, it is isn't it?" John exclaimed in realization. Sherlock stared back, lips tight, expression unchanging. John, for once, was at a loss for words.

"Sherlock..." he said gently, not wanting to hurt his best friend too badly. Sherlock looked a bit as if he wanted to yank the box away, so John quickly pulled it open before he got a chance. He stared down into the box curiously.

John's face turned from sympathetic to horrified as he stared down at the object in the box, unable to turn his head away, not knowing what to think. He always know Sherlock was dreadful at romantic gestures, but to do something like this was unthinkable.

"It's...it's not actually real," Sherlock said quietly. John's eyes shot up to Sherlock's face, and then back to the dick in the box. He slowly reached in and grasped it, pulling it out between two fingers. He breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that it was just rubber. And...it squeaked.

He tentatively turned it over, observing a small tag that stated in gaudy letters "Dicks for your Dog - We Put the Slutty in Puppy." His eyes shot back up to Sherlock.

"We...we don't have a dog," he stuttered nervously.

"Maybe I should have taken the tag off first," Sherlock muttered. He reached out in an attempt to yank the toy away, muttering about how he must have made a mistake and he'd return it first thing in the morning, but John pulled it away from Sherlock's grasping hand, his eyes resting on a small note taped to the underside of the toy.

"Can I be your Shercock as well as your Sherlock..." John read aloud. "Are...are you trying to ask me on a date?" John stammered. "This is not how normal men ask people out on dates you know."

Sherlock's face grew dark. "I knew I shouldn't have gone to Lestrade for romantic advice." He pulled out his phone, beginning to type an angry text message, as John stared at him incredulously. John slowly stood up from the couch, untangling himself from the heap of blankets, to go stand next to Sherlock. He glanced down at the phone screen, snorting with laughter as he saw Lestrade's reaction to the news that Sherlock had actually gone through with it.

Sherlock's face was growing more and more red, and he looked as if he was about to flee the apartment, so John awkwardly patted his back. "Lestrade huh? Don't worry about it. Could've happened to anyone," he lied reassuringly.

Sherlock quickly nodded. "Oh yes, he was quite convincing. I'm sure that slimy bastard would have taken you in too."

"Of course," John replied, trying his very best not to smile. "Why, I'm sure he he could have conned Mrs. Hudson herself."

"I really must stop this operation of his, before he cons more innocent people into humiliating themselves in front of their..." He drifted off awkwardly. "Best friends..." he finally said, dejectedly.

"Well," John said quietly. "If you don't mind letting a wicked con man roam free for a few more hours, I suppose maybe we could go grab a quick bite to eat."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, perking up a bit.

"And maybe...um...you could even...um..." John paused, blushing furiously.

Sherlock observed him for a moment, noticing his red cheeks and his dilated pupils. "You want to kiss me." he said, staring at John in awe.

John hesitantly looked up to meet his eyes, and gulped. "Maybe just a bit..." Sherlock took a step forward, and the next thing they knew, their lips were pressed together, the rubber cock lying on a table, forgotten. Pulling away, they smiled at each other and strode out the door, hand in hand.

"Just don't ever bring up your shercock again," John warned.

"Never," Sherlock agreed.

A week later, Moriarty received a mysterious package in the mail. "Huh," he said, pulling it out. "I've always wanted one of these." He shoved it in his pocket, and swaggered away, whistling to himself.


End file.
